Survival of the Fellowship
by ccgaylord
Summary: Alternate sequel to LOTR. The fellowship has failed and Sauron has taken over Middle Earth. Understandably, the first targets for his revenge are the little creeps who tried to destroy his precious. All canon characters. Absolutely no OCs whatsoever.
1. Mordor's Most Wanted

**Note: I don't know how this is going to go, as I have no definite plans as to plot. It's just that Middle Earth under the lordship of Sauron is such a fun world to play in. If I keep having ideas I may keep writing.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Middle Earth or anything in it. Lord Sauron does. Used without permission.**

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**Chapter 1: Mordor's Most Wanted**

**WANTED FOR SUBVERSIVE ACTIVITIES**

Rebel band of eight members. Self-styled the Nine Walkers (there used to be nine of them). Highly odious to the Dark Lord. Apprehend on sight.

Their crimes include: owning the Ring of Power; attempting to destroy said Ring of Power; forming a fellowship for the purposes of accomplishing said destruction of said Ring of Power; killing orcs of the Red Eye and of our ally, the White Hand; trespassing on Mount Doom; slaying endangered balrogs; attempting to conceal information from the Dark Lord; attempting to mislead the Dark Lord as to their true intentions; fraternising with elves; offering incivilities to agents of the Dark Lord and his ally; entering Mordor without passing through security; using the Ring of Power; using the Ring of Power for petty purposes, such as turning themselves invisible, thus aiding their passage into Mordor without passing through security; laying unfounded claims to the throne of Gondor; accepting bribes from an enemy of the Dark Lord, namely the self-styled Lady of Lothlorien; attempting to subvert the Dark Lord's ally; falsifying their own deaths; using weapons of mass destruction (known as ents); causing annoyance to the Dark Lord through the singing and composing of annoying songs; forming alliances with enemies of the Dark Lord; lighting unauthorised fires; injuring the Dark Lord's pet giant spider; attacking and murdering without provocation an unarmed ambassador under flag of truce (which is against the rules no matter whose book you go by).

Their subversive activities may include but are not limited to: attempting to steal and then destroy the Ring of Power; attempting to undermine the Dark Lord and his rule; writing hefty tomes of subversive literature; lighting fires in unauthorised places; attempting to subvert law-abiding subjects; spreading illicit slander against the Dark Lord and his agents; attempting to slay orcs; stirring up ill-feeling against the Dark Lord and his policies; defacing public property with subversive slogans and images.

Description:

Gandalf (alias Mithrandir and others): Wizard; 6' 3"; white beard and hair (was grey), grey-blue eyes, long mishapen nose, bushy eyebrows; deep voice, British accent; carries long staff (beware, staff confirmed very dangerous) and sword, wears tall, pointed hat; often seen riding white horse;

Aragorn (alias Strider, Elessar, Estel, possibly others): Human; 6' 6"; long, dirty brown hair, short brown beard, blue eyes; rough voice (sounds like speaker suffers from laryngitis), American accent; armed with sword; wears strange elven pendant; modus operandum consists of leaving the rest of the fellowship (or Middle Earth) to an unhappy fate and then sneaking back when not expected to deliver surprise attack.

Legolas: Elf; 6' 1"; long, blond hair, blue eyes, prominent brow, hollow cheeks; English Manchester accent; armed with bow, long knives, sharp ears and eyes; prefers to wear green; when apprehending, do not attempt to use tranquilisers—elves are relatively unaffected by such drugs, which generally cause no more sensation than tingling of the fingers.

Gimli: Dwarf; 4' 6"; reddish hair and beard, bulbous nose but not much to be seen of his face otherwise; accent unspecified; armed with axe, possibly other weapons (dwarves commonly carry concealed weapons); preferred method of attack is being hurled bodily at enemies while swinging axe.

Frodo Baggins: Hobbit; 3' 11"; dark, curly hair, extremely blue eyes, sometimes mistaken for a girl; high voice, English accent (assumed); armed with elven blade and elven vial, also wears mithril coat; this impudent upstart personally attempted to destroy the Ring of Power after carting it about Mordor under the Dark Lord's very nose; a very high reward will be given for his capture; apprehending him is important because having owned the Ring of Power for a time, the little slime ball will be driven to get it back again.

Samwise Gamgee (alias Sam): Hobbit; 4' 1"; light, curly hair, fat; English rural accent (also assumed); armed with Numenorean blade; almost always found in company with Frodo (see above), often lights fires to cook over which betrays his whereabouts; not clever—outwitting him won't pose much of a problem.

Merriadoc Brandybuck (alias Merry): Hobbit; 4' 8"; light, curly hair, jaw out of joint; English gutter accent (possibly assumed); armed with dagger, can sometimes summon ents or Rohirrim; almost always found in company with Pippin (see below); reacts unfavourably to orc draught.

Peregrin Took (alias Pippin or Pip): Hobbit; 4' 7"; brown, curly hair; Scottish accent; armed with dagger, can also summon ents; has habbit of dropping things so friends can track him, very clumsy—often drops things down wells, easily interrogated because he cannot hold his tongue and gives everything away; use caution when apprehending—suspect is known to have a strong fan base: any violence done to suspect will make you extremely unpopular.

Anyone caught conversing, fraternising, or otherwise having contact (not for purposes of apprehension) with the above stated suspects will be immediately incarcerated by the State. Anyone caught aiding them will face definite incarceration and possible torture and/or death.

All suspects are extremely dangerous. Do not attempt to speak to suspects: you may be compromised. Do not attempt to engage suspects in battle: you will probably lose. All suspects to be brought to Barad-dur upon capture. No exceptions. A suitable reward will be determined by the Dark Lord to be disbursed to the captor. All suspects wanted alive if possible; if impossible to apprehend them alive, the Dark Lord will accept their persons dead for a slightly lower sum.

Any information on suspects, their activities, or contacts please refer to: The Witch King, Minas Morgul, Gondor.

This notice written under the orders of

LORD SAURON, Dark Lord, Forger of the One Ring of Power, Maia, Necromancer, Lord of Werewolves, lieutenant of Morgoth, officiating high priest at temple to Melkor in Numenor, Ruler of Ringwraiths.


	2. Policy

**Note: Yay! My favourite chapter so far! (Actually, I only have two chapters so far...oh well.) **PeregrinTook1390 **(I hope you decided to keep reading this), yes, Pippin is the smallest to begin with, but he and Merry drink Ent draught and get to be two of the tallest hobbits since old Bullroarer Took. I can't remember how tall they were exactly, although I think it said in the movie (I don't watch the movie often enough). In fact, I had to guess the height of every fellowship member because the only one with his height listed on LOTR wiki was Aragorn...it said he was 6'6"(!) and I'm seriously doubting the reliability of their information.**

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**Chapter 2: Policy**

Lord Sauron paced the flagstones of his tower. (Being a villain, pacing flagstones came naturally to him.) Now that he had recovered his Ring of Power he had reassumed his natural shape as a tall dark Lord in armour, which was much more comfortable than being an eye stuck up on top of a tower. Being an eye had been rather useful, however. He had at least been able to watch events, while now he could only pace about in his tower, frowning at the floor and waiting for his minions to let him know what was going on.

Sauron spun around as the door opened and his lieutenant, the Witch King of Angmar, entered.

"Where is it?"

"I couldn't find it," said the Witch King.

"What? Did you search her?"

"Of course," said the Witch King.

"What about her luggage?"

"I searched that, too—all five suitcases and three shoulder bags…plus a purse. The purse took the longest."

"And you didn't find it?"

"No. I found a lot of jewellery. I even found her wedding ring, if you want that."

"I don't want jewellery."

"But you're so fond of it!"

The Witch King quickly wiped the silly smile from his face as Sauron shot him a black look. The master was obviously not in a joking mood.

"She must have it!" said Sauron. "She wouldn't have left it behind." He mused for a moment. "Some say that she can turn it invisible."

"Maybe so, but that wouldn't have helped her much since I can't see anyway," said the Witch King.

The Mouth emerged from a cubicle in the corner. He had been relegated to a desk job ever since the embarrassing debacle at the Black Gate and now he was anxious to reinstate himself in Sauron's good graces.

"She could be made to talk," he said hopefully. "Shall I go up and interrogate her, my lord?"

"What's the good of that?" said Sauron. "I gave her a good grilling when I first brought her here. She wouldn't answer any of my questions and she completely creeped me out. No, I'll just have to search her stuff myself. I can't depend on anyone else."

"You probably won't find it, either," said the Witch King. "Just look how long it took you to find your own Ring."

"That wasn't my fault!" stormed Sauron. "I would have found it much sooner if I had only had some decent help. I'm surrounded by incapacity. Yes, you and your nazgul got my Ring back for me, but only after I had already found it. And where was it? Inside Mount Doom—about to be destroyed. And then the lot of you were so excited about getting it back that you let the little creep who stole it slip through your fingers—not for the first time, either, I may add."

"Well, if you recall, _I_ wasn't there," said the Witch King. "I was dead. And I could protest about having had to die so many times when an ordinary mortal usually only dies once."

"That was your fault," said Sauron. "You were supposed to be invincible. You were this amazing person who was going to lead my army to triumph and glory and what happened? You got stabbed by a woman and a halfling. A fine sort of ending!"

The Mouth snickered.

"And you," said Sauron, turning on him, "got your head hacked off by a scruffy ranger!"

The Mouth's bright smile disappeared.

"I wouldn't have bothered bringing the two of you back to life, if I'd been able to get anyone better," Sauron went on.

"Well, why didn't you bring Saruman back to life, then?" asked the Witch King.

"I thought about it, but by the time I got my Ring back he'd already been dead for awhile. Besides, he tried to double-cross me and I couldn't trust him anymore. It doesn't matter. He was a bungler too. You're all bunglers. Isn't there anyone around here who can get things done besides me?"

There was a tentative cough from behind him. Lord Sauron (he was in the habit of spinning, having been a round object for so long) spun around. Lord Celeborn stood in the doorway.

"I hope I'm not intruding," he said.

"Who let you out of your cell?" demanded Lord Sauron.

"He did," said Celeborn, pointing to the Witch King.

"What!" said the Witch King.

"At least, he unobservantly allowed me to steal the key long enough to make an impression from which I created a duplicate." Lord Celeborn held up a key between his thumb and forefinger.

"How dare you!" cried Sauron, turning on the Witch King. "Take him back to his cell at once!"

"But your lordship," protested Celeborn, "I was not going to escape. I only wanted to speak to you about something."

Lord Sauron, though he didn't like elves, did have a sense of curiosity. "What about?" he asked.

"About Lady Galadriel. She protests the search and seizure of her property."

"But I didn't take anything," said the Witch King.

"Search and meditated seizure," Celeborn amended. "And she would also like the temperature on her cell thermostat lowered."

"You may tell your lady from me," said Sauron, "that until I find that ring of hers, her life is only going to get unpleasanter."

"But your lordship, she is already undergoing considerable trauma, having been dragged unwillingly from her home and then having all her beloved Mallyrn trees chopped down. She was so fond of those. Consider, your lordship, what she must be going through."

"Why didn't she complain when I spoke to her earlier?" asked Sauron.

"She tried to, your lordship. She attempted to communicate telepathically, but apparently you are not receptive to telecommunication."

"She's ready to talk now, is she?"

"No, she'd rather not see you at present. She says the sight of you disturbs her." Lord Celeborn said this with an apologetic bow.

"I will disturb her a great deal more before I've finished," said Sauron. He strode towards the doorway but stopped as he reached it because Lord Celeborn was still blocking it.

"I would not consider such action advisable, my lord," said Celeborn.

"Why not?"

"I greatly fear such a step would anger the opposition."

Lord Sauron appeared to smoulder inside his armour. "What opposition? I've cleaned up all resistance in Middle Earth."

"Well, there is still the fellowship, you know. Gandalf and Gimli are both strong supporters of Lady Galadriel."

"They are defunct."

"At present, yes. But it would be wise not to anger them. After all, you want them running for their lives, not starting a revolution. As long as they're simply afraid of you, they won't do anything, but if you make them angry, they might."

"What could they possibly do?" demanded Sauron.

"Well, Gandalf controls the wizards' vote—a very powerful sect, you know—and Gimli could rouse the dwarves, and they're so nice and peaceful just now. You wouldn't want to be fighting a war on two fronts while you're still trying to deal with Harad, now would you?"

"Why should you care?" asked the Witch King. "Where do you come into this?"

Celeborn looked modest. "I am only her ladyship's spokesman," he said. "Whatever you choose to do, my position can hardly be affected. But if my advice can be of any use to you, you're welcome to it."

"I don't need your advice," said Sauron. "Your attempts at intimidating me are useless. I have the Ring of Power, don't I? No one can stand against me."

"True, my lord," said Celeborn. "But remember that Gandalf is one of the Istari. When he lived in Valinor he was a Maia. If he were able to return to Valinor—yes, I know you closed down the Grey Havens, but just supposing he were able to find a boat somewhere—he might convince the Valar to interpose on Middle Earth's behalf again. You remember what they did to Beleriand when they went to war against Morgoth."

Sauron looked slightly disturbed.

"…And what they did to Numenor when the Numenoreans tried to enter Valinor. You wouldn't want them doing something like that to your nice, new kingdom, would you?"

"What do you suggest, then?" asked Sauron.

"That for the time being you humour her ladyship," said Celeborn. "Keep her in a good mood and wait for her to let down her guard."

"But she's a prisoner! How am I supposed to keep her in a good mood?"

"Oh, she will be very happy here, I'm sure," said Celeborn. "She was remarking only this morning how much she likes stone floors. Why not give her something to do? It would take her mind off being a prisoner and she dearly loves to be busy."

"Give her something to do?" said Sauron.

"Well, why not make her your secretary? She wouldn't have any difficulties learning Black Speech, I'm sure—she's very talented with languages. And her handwriting is beautiful."

Sauron considered for a moment.

"And she would brighten up your office considerably, too," added Celeborn, glancing around the room.

"That's not a bad idea," said Sauron.

"It would improve your public relations immensely," said Celeborn.

"Yes," said Sauron. "And I'm in need of a charismatic blonde for a receptionist, too. The Mouth turns a lot of people off."

"Oh, she'd love that job," said Celeborn. "She's such a people person."

"Actually," said Sauron, "I was referring to you."


	3. A Dire Predicament

**Note: Thanks for the reviews, everybody! Short chapter this time. It's mainly to show what "normal" life is like under Sauron's regime, and a chance to stick in some fun Nazi/Commi stuff. I promise the next chapter will actually be about the fellowship!**

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**Chapter 3: A Dire Predicament**

Erestor sat at his desk, gazing rather blankly at the opposite wall. His office had escaped the general devastation of the war and though small, was able to keep up a cheery appearance. It was located in the better section of Rivendell. The white runes printed on the glass door read: Erestor, Counselling and Therapy.

The door swung open, ringing a little bell above it, and an elf entered.

"Hello, Lindir," said Erestor, trying to sound cheerful. "How can I help you?" He was guessing from Lindir's harrassed expression that the elf had come for counselling and not counsel. Erestor offered both services, but of late most of his customers had been in need of the former.

Lindir collapsed into a chair in front of the desk. "Have you heard the news?" he asked.

"Probably not," said Erestor. "I haven't had much time to go online—I've had too many patients."

Erestor glanced out the window at an orc who was painting the word "elf" on the glass in large white letters. Lots of elves were needing counselling these days.

"I heard about Glorfindel being taken to the camps, if that's what you mean," Erestor went on. "It's a terrible calamity, but I tried to warn him."

"So you haven't heard?" said Lindir, a trifle repetitiously. "About Arwen?"

For some reason the name gave Erestor a sense of foreboding. Not that there was anything very frightening about Arwen—he had taught her her runes when she was a little elfling—but because there was something in the back of his mind that associated her with problems.

It began to dawn on him as Lindir continued his explanation.

"Lord Elrond was stressing out yesterday about Aragorn being in hiding and unable to take her off his hands, and the Grey Havens being shut down so she can't go to Valinor, and Lothlorien being laid waste so she can't stay with her grandmother anymore, and so…"

"You mean she's back in circulation?" asked Erestor, appalled.

"That's what he was getting at," said Lindir. He looked up at Erestor with his usual expression of bewildered anxiety—rather as if he was permanently expecting a blow from above. "What are we going to do?"

"No need to panic yet," said Erestor. "After all, Aragorn's still _alive_, and as long as he is, she won't agree to marry anyone else."

"Aragorn can't come out of hiding, and Arwen is getting desperate as well as Lord Elrond—she's just not as willing to admit it."

"Does Glorfindel know?" asked Erestor.

"Of course. Why else do you think he let them take him to the camps? He hates her even more than we do."

"I do not hate Arwen," said Erestor cautiously. "I simply find her company to be a bit overpowering in immoderation. She is really a very nice girl and if I were a younger elf…" He considered for a moment and ammended this. "—A younger elf who was fond of excitement—and was contemplating marriage…"

He gave Lindir a significant look. Lindir sank further into confusion.

"I'm—I'm not young. I'm over seven hundred years old."

"Which is why you should get married before you get any older."

"But I don't like excitement. I had a desk job during the war."

"You need more excitement in your life," said Erestor. "And you get along so well with her father."

Lindir's expression was somewhere beyond harrassment. "Then there would be _two_ of them," he croaked.

"Lindir," said Erestor, leaning back in his chair, "you are the obvious choice. She was practically engaged to you until Aragorn showed up. We were all expecting wedding announcements."

Hoping for them, actually. It was wishful thinking.

"No!" said Lindir. "No, no, no. I never proposed!"

"Lord Elrond proposed for you."

Erestor fondly recalled the numerous counselling fees he had collected from Lindir at this time.

"Why did you talk me out of committing suicide?" said Lindir.

"The answer is obvious, isn't it? I was next on her list."

"Why meeeee?" Lindir wailed.

"Well, don't forget that we had a golden opportunity of getting rid of her and it slipped through our fingers."

Lindir put his face into his hands. "It wasn't my fault," he said. "I tried as hard as anyone else to get her to go to Valinor."

"We all did," said Erestor. "It was my idea in the first place, remember? And Glorfindel laid aside their usual enmity and offered her the use of his horse—even personally escorted her himself. But Lord Elrond put you in charge of making sure that she got there."

"I tried," said Lindir. "I really did. How was I supposed to know that she would have one of her creepy visions and go tearing off back to Rivendell? I almost went on to Valinor myself rather than face Lord Elrond."

"Well, the problem is now yours to solve."

"I can't," said Lindir desperately. "You know how often I'm in here as it is. Eighty years ago I was a happy, sane elven lieutenant. Now look at me."

Erestor looked at Lindir and began to feel a little pity. It was quite true: Lindir had grown much thinner, paler, and more girly-looking.

"I'm sorry, Lindir," said Erestor, "but what else can we do?"

"We could just go to the camps like Glorfindel," said Lindir.

"That would only be a temporary solution. Eventually every elf in Middle Earth will be in the camps—that means Arwen, too."

"Life is horrible," said Lindir putting his face in his hands again.

"There's only one other way out of it," said Erestor.

"What's that?" asked Lindir, grasping at this straw with pathetic eagerness.

"We'll have to bring Aragorn back."

"But that's impossible. Lord Sauron will never pardon him. And even if he does, Aragorn can never be king of Gondor and Arwen probably won't agree to marry him on any other terms."

"True," said Erestor. "The solution, however, is simple. We must make Aragorn defeat Sauron."

Lindir glanced around. "That's treason," he whispered.

"It's the only way out," said Erestor calmly.

"But we don't even know where Aragorn is hiding."

"Elrohir and Elladan can find him."

"They're in detention," said Lindir. "For assaulting an orc."

"Then _we_ must find him," said Erestor. "Otherwise, one of us will have to marry Arwen. We _must_ not fail."

Lindir's eyes grew rounder.

"Where shall we look?"


	4. In Hiding

**Note: Yippee! Angsty Pippin! I originally intended to write this chapter from Frodo's perspective, but Pippin turned out to be more fun. We'll have a look at Frodo's diary later, maybe. As always, thanks for reviewing!**

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**Chapter 4: In Hiding**

April 27, 3019

Dear Diary,

It's been more than a month since we've been in hiding. I ought to say more properly _running _and hiding. No sooner do we find a safe house then a bunch of orcs come along and we have to dodge again. My feet are killing me.

Right now we're staying with two cave trolls who were good-hearted enough (and dumb enough) to take us in. It's pretty close quarters and as usual I have to share a sleeping bag with Merry. I hate being small. Even worse, the cave trolls snore so loudly that it shakes the whole cave. I have to admit this is partly a good thing: previously we had problems trying to stay hidden because nearly every one of us snores really loudly with the exception of myself, Legolas, and Frodo (Merry says I snore, but I don't). Legolas talks in his sleep: a constant babble that is actually more annoying than snoring. Frodo makes no noise but sleep walks with a freaky look on his face. He's still trying to find his precious.

Merry and I held a snoring contest the other night to see which of the fellowship snores the loudest, and I put most of my money on Gandalf. Merry said Gimli. The contest wasn't much of a success because Merry fell asleep in the middle of it and snored the loudest of all.

It's so boring sitting in a cave all day with nothing to do that Merry and I have taken to holding all kinds of contests. Yesterday we had a contest to see who would argue the most times in one day. The teams were: Aragorn vs. Gandalf, Legolas vs. Gimli, and Sam vs. Frodo. At first Sam and Frodo were winning and they were the ones I had bet on, but then Merry started _cheating_ and got Aragorn and Gandalf fighting over the palantir. That was completely unfair, so I took Frodo's mithril shirt and hid it in Sam's sleeping bag. Frodo's really touchy about his stuff.

Then Merry started fighting with _me_ and Legolas and Gimli started getting on each other's backs about whether Fangorn Forest or the caverns of Helms Deep are cooler and then Merry and I realised that we had forgotten to count the two cave trolls in the contest and they were hitting each other over the head about something one of them had accidentally put in the stewpot.

Gandalf _somehow_ found out who was starting all the fights (I have my doubts about the ethical validity of that palantir) and he threatened to tie me and Merry up in a sleeping bag if we didn't behave. We thought the fun was over when who do you think showed up? Elrohir and Elladan, the sons of Elrond. They had beat up an orc and were wanted by the Mordor secret police (i.e. Nazgul), so they had come to hide out with us. Merry and I made bets on who could get them fighting the fastest and I so totally won.

The trouble with doing anything even slightly questionable is that Gandalf always blames _me_. Just because I'm the youngest. It's not fair: Merry should get blamed because he's older. Anyway, it isn't _always_ my idea.

So now we have twin elves staying with us in addition to the immature cave trolls, depressed hobbits, maladjusted human, autistic elf prince, groupy dwarf, and over-reacting wizard. The prolonged confinement is starting to affect our sanity adversely. Not only that, but the food is running out (not to mention the pipeweed has been gone for three days and all of us, excepting Legolas, are suffering excruciating withdrawal symptoms). I have no idea how much longer we can continue like this.


	5. Pastimes in a Cave

**Chapter 5: Pastimes in a Cave**

Varied memoranda from the unofficial conclave of the fellowship of the ring while in hiding in a cave belonging to friendly cave trolls.

(In other words, we got so bored we started writing down everything everyone said.)

Secretary: Merriadoc Brandybuck

Vice Secretary: Peregrin Took

Gimli: (_entering the room and slum__ping down into a corner_) This is a rotten cave. Nothing to the ones at Helms Deep. Nothing to the caverns of Moria. Nothing to Erebor...

Gandalf: It's better than the dungeons of Barad-Dur.

Gimli: How do you know?

Legolas: (_jumping up in the corner and doing a theatrical sort of dance_) There's spiders in here.

Gimli: I thought you were used to spiders.

Legolas: (_sitting down again in a different corner_) I don't _like_ them.

Gandalf: _(suspiciously)_ What are you two up to over there?

Merry: Nothing.

Pippin: Minding our own business.

Gandalf: What is that you're writing?

Pippin: A play.

Gandalf: A play, indeed! I hope you don't intend to perform it for us.

Elrohir: _(to Elladan)_ Remember that dumb play Aragorn wrote about Turin and the dragon?

Aragorn: That was like seventy years ago! How do you still remember that?

Elrohir: I don't know. Seventy years isn't that long.

Elladan: I think we still have that play somewhere.

Elrohir: We should find it so we can show it to Arwen.

_Cave troll passes through the room on its way out the door._

Gimli: Where is he going?

Gandalf: To the village, to buy food.

Gimli: How do you know that's what he's going there for? Maybe he's going to tell them where we are. Maybe he was planning to do that all along.

Gandalf: Then why wouldn't he have done it sooner? Don't be paranoid. Things are bad enough without imagining them worse.

Sam: (_looking over Merry's shoulder_) That's no play. There's not a quoth or forsooth from beginning to end.

_Inserted by vice secretary_: mind thus thine own business quoth Pippin forsooth.

Merry: Give it back!

vice secretary: It's my turn.

Merry: Seriously, give it back. I had it first. Stop writing everything I say.

Aragorn: What? You're writing what we say?

Sam: Every blessed word.

Pippin: Stop looking!

_Long silence as everyone in room tries to remember everything they said for the last five minutes._

Aragorn: Where's Gandalf?

Legolas: I think he went to take a bath.

Gandalf: _(entering room while waving staff and yelling)_ Merriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took! What have you been doing to the bathtub?

Merry: No!

Pippin: Don't touch it!

Gandalf: If those cave trolls kick us out of here it will be your fault! What madness drove you to fill the bathtub with dirt?

Merry: It was an experiment.

Pippin: We were trying to grow pipeweed.

Aragorn: _(looking eager) _Did it work?

Pippin: No.

Sam: You can't grow plants in a cave. There's not enough light.

Merry: I know, we can borrow Frodo's phial of Galadriel.

Frodo: _(coming out of a sort of coma) _No! It's mine.

Gimli: Not so loud, all of you. Someone might hear us.

Gandalf: _(grumbling in an undertone) _No food, no pipeweed, and no bath.

Elladan: Remember the time Aragorn was showing off for Arwen and he fell into the hot tub?

Aragorn: Don't you guys have anything better to do than relate embarrassing moments from my past?

Elladan: _(after a pause)_ Nothing comes to mind.

Legolas: _(suddenly freaking out and trying to pull his hair out)_ I'm having withdrawal symptoms!

Gimli: But you don't smoke.

Legolas: _(pausing and then freaking out again) _I'm having orc-slashing withdrawal symptoms.

Aragorn: Me too.

Elladan: Maybe we could slip out just for a few -

Gandalf: Certainly not. Far too dangerous.

Elrohir: But we'll all go insane, cooped up in here!

Sam: Nobody invited _you_.

Gimli: And in any case, stop making so much noise.

_(Long and bored silence)_

Gimli: That cave troll ought to be back by now. It's been long enough.

_(Loud and ominous knock on door, like knock of doom)_

_(Total silence in room for about two minutes)_

Pippin: _(in stage whisper) _Who is it?

Gandalf: _(also in whisper)_ Hold your tongue, fool of a Took!

Merry: Pippin! How many times have I told you not to answer if someone knocks! It might be the nazgul._  
_

Pippin: _(loud whisper)_ We're not home!

_(Door opens)_

Gimli: Who forgot to lock the door?

_(Erestor and Lindir enter)_

Elladan: What are you doing here?

Erestor: What are _you _doing here? I thought you were in detention.

Elrohir: We escaped.

Gimli: How did you find us?

Erestor: We got in touch with the underground.

Elrohir: So why did you come here?

Lindir: We're in hiding.

Gandalf: You've chosen a poor place to hide. We could be discovered at any time.

Erestor: We're not hiding from the nazgul. We're hiding from Arwen.

Aragorn: Arwen?

Erestor: Your father is trying to make us marry her.

Aragorn: But _I'm _going to marry her!

Lindir: Then you'd better hurry up.

Erestor: He's getting desperate.

Aragorn: Don't be silly. How can I marry her when I'm hiding in a cave?

Erestor: Why are you hiding in a cave anyway? These look like pretty third-rate accommodations.

Elrohir: Do you think we _want _to be here?

Sam: _(in an aside) _Well, you didn't have to come.

Aragorn: Do you have any better suggestions?

Lindir: We have a plan.

Aragorn: What plan?

Erestor: Listen, Estel...I mean Aragorn. You remember the story of Beren and Luthien?

Lindir: - Your ancestors, weren't they?

Erestor: How they stole the silmaril from Mor - er, you know - that guy?

Aragorn: Yes?

Erestor: And another of your ancestors, Isildur - how he cut off...someone's...finger?

Aragorn: Well?

Erestor: These people can be defeated!

Aragorn: What are you saying? You want me to go chop off Sauron's finger?

Lindir: Yes.

Erestor: It can't be too much harder than stealing a silmaril.

Aragorn: That's insane! I admit desperate times call for desperate measures, but what you're talking about is suicide!

Erestor: Just think about it, Aragorn. Promise me you'll at least think about it.

Lindir: After all, if you get killed Arwen can go to the Halls of Mandos and beg for you to be resurrected.

Erestor: And that would be really romantic.

Lindir: And we would write songs about it.

Gandalf: They're right, you know, Aragorn. We can't hide for ever - sooner or later they're going to find us. Best to strike now while we still can.

Aragorn: Look. I tried. I did everything in my power - I even went through the paths of the dead. Remember the final stand outside the Black Gate? Can't ask for more heroism than that, can you? And still we were defeated. It would be no different a second time.

Sam: It wasn't Mr. Frodo's fault._  
_

Gandalf: We're not blaming anyone, but this time we'll do it all together. We should never have split up last time.

Aragorn: Together or alone it's impossible!

Legolas: I agree.

Aragorn: Thank you, Legolas.

Legolas: And besides, there's another option.

Gimli: What's that?

Legolas: Not all of Mirkwood was overrun. Far to the north a small resistance force still fights on, led by my father.

Erestor: But they're just a bunch of commies!

Gandalf: You think we could fight Sauron with such a puny force? Our only hope is a surprise attack right at the heart of Mordor. ...Besides, I don't trust your father. He'd take the ring for himself.

Merry: I have an idea.

Elrohir: What?

Merry: We could go back to Moria and get the Balrog to help us.

Gandalf: Fool of a Brandybuck! What a stupid idea!

Sam: Gandalf killed the Balrog.

Merry: Oh, yeah.

Gandalf: Stop changing the subject! The point is, we need to go to Mordor and destroy the ring.

Elrohir: Orc slashing!

Aragorn: No, we need a plan of attack - one that will work.

Legolas: We should go to Mirkwood.

Gimli: Why not just stay here?

_(Cave troll enters with enormous sack over shoulder)_

Pippin, Merry, and Sam: Did you get anything to eat?

Aragorn: Did you check the P.O. box?

Cave troll: Yes. Here's the mail.

Gandalf: All that just since yesterday?

Cave troll: _(dumping huge sack on the floor so that letters spill in all directions) _This was all I could carry.

Gimli: It's probably all for you, Legolas.

Legolas: Don't feel bad. You can read half of them.

Elrohir: Half of them are probably for Aragorn.

Gandalf: There's probably quite a few for Frodo as well. Better wake up, Frodo.

Pippin: _(sorting letters into piles and appropriating the largest pile)_ Oh, look. I got the most.

Merry: No fair!

(Note-taking here interrupted. To be resumed at a later date.)


	6. Fan Mail

**Notes: Battle of the fans!**

* * *

**Chapter 6: Fan Mail**

_Dear Pippin,_

_I am your biggest fan! I don't think you're stupid! I love how you knocked the skeleton down the well and made tons of noise and let all the orcs know you were in Moria. Coolest part in the movie! (In the first movie.)_

_Sincerely, a fan_

_Dear Aragorn,_

_I am nineteen years old and have brown hair and blue eyes. I love swordfighting and I just got a new bow for my birthday and already can hit a beetle at two hundred yards with my eyes shut. I have also learned the skills of tracking, signalling, and living in the wild. I prefer to wear elven robes, but I don't mind dressing like a warrior when the occasion calls for it. I have included my photograph and phone number. Please write me back soon! (Or call me!)_

_Sincerely, Ranger!Sue_

_Dear Pippin,_

_You're my favourite hobbit after Bilbo. No, wait, no, yeah, you're my favourite hobbit and Bilbo's next, actually. I've liked you ever since I was like five years old and I think your scottish accent is really cool._

_Sincerely, a fan_

_Dear Legolas,_

_We are holding a conference this month on how to kill mumakil and we'd like you to be the main speaker. Please let us know if this will work out for you. We will pay._

_Sincerely, the Gondorian Guardsmens' Guild_

_Dear Aragorn,_

_I love how you fell off a cliff and survived. Your scars looked so cool. I wish I could fight wargs with my bare hands like that. I was not among the orcs at the Black Gate who destroyed your army. I didn't want to fight for Sauron but he made me. I'm tired of fighting for him and want to fight for you if you decide to raise an army._

_Sincerely, an uruk admirer_

_Dear Legolas,_

_You're so handsome and cool. I love how you skateboarded down the stairs on a shield at Helms Deep. You saved us all!_

_Sincerely, a maiden from Rohan_

_Dear Aragorn,_

_I am locked fast in Sauron's tower and am not allowed to get news, but I hope you are still alive and are devising means of rescuing me. I am waiting patiently, but it is horrible here. Please come soon._

_Sincerely, Galadriel_

_Dear Pippin,_

_You're my favourite hobbit. Can we be friends? I like to read. I like _The Lord of the Rings _and _The Magic Treehouse _series._

_Sincerely, a fan_

_Dear Aragorn,_

_I am interested in purchasing your palantir. If you ever consider selling it, please contact me at once._

_Sincerely, The Witch King of Angmar_

_Dear Legolas,_

_Come home at once. No excuses._

_Love, Dad_

_Dear Pippin,_

_My little sister has a crush on you and asked me to write this letter for her. She drew the picture herself._

_Sincerely, the brother of a fan_

_Dear Aragorn,_

_Can I have your autograph? Please send it to the return address on this envelope._

_Sincerely, a fan_

_Dear Legolas,_

_We would like to purchase the rights to your image for use in advertisements for our new line of TangleFreeTM hair care products. Please call us at your convenience so we can discuss details and payment. Thank you._

_Sincerely, HairStuff Inc. TM_

_Dear Pippin,_

_Yeah, I totally agree with you about the beacon lighting. I mean, that was _dangerous_. Way cooler than what Merry went through. I'm sending my favourite recipe for stuffed mushrooms. Hope you like it! Write back soon._

_Sincerely, a fan_

_Dear Legolas,_

_Sauron has taken me prisoner and is keeping me locked in his tower. Please come to rescue me at your earliest convenience._

_Sincerely, Galadriel_

_Dear Aragorn,_

_You creep have you seen my sister?_

_Sincerely, Eomer_

_Dear Legolas,_

_I think you should have been the one to kill Smaug __in _The Hobbit_. It would have been so much cooler. And by the way, why were you so much fatter then than you are now? Don't worry, I still think you're cute._

_Sincerely, a fan_

_Dear Pippin,_

_Next time Gandalf calls you names, call him "fool of a wizard!" I'll bet he won't like that. Anyway, I'm sending the T-shirt for you to sign. It's got a white tree on it, so I can look like you when I wear it._

_Sincerely, a fan_


	7. Gimli's Discovery

**Notes: **2MFriedmanFreak: **They each got the same amount. That was completely unintentional, though. (I had to go back and count to find out.)**

* * *

**Content Advisory: Warning. This chapter rated T for drug references.**

* * *

**Chapter 7: Gimli's Discovery**

Pippin, with a stack of paper his own height, sat down in the middle of his letters and began writing replies to every single one.

"Aren't you going to open yours, Frodo?" asked Gandalf.

Frodo sat up and listlessly picked up a letter.

"Who is it from?" asked Sam.

"Probably a tenth walker," said Merry, who hadn't gotten very many letters and had already opened them all.

"Here, I'll read it for you," said Sam, seeing Frodo was still staring at the letter without attempting to open it.

"Look, Gimli," said Legolas. "There's a letter for you, too."

"For me?" Gimli took the letter and stared at it, as if he could hardly believe it was there. "I didn't know I had any fans."

"Open it," said Merry.

Gimli tore open the envelope as carefully as if it had been a custom gift-wrapped birthday present.

_Dear Gimli,_

_I am locked in Sauron's tower. Please come and rescue me._

_Sincerely, Galadriel_

"Oh, you got one too," said Legolas.

"Locked?" said Gimli, staring at the letter. "Locked in Sauron's tower? No!"

"You didn't know about that?" asked Elladan. "She's been a prisoner since they took out Lothlorien."

"I must save her!" said Gimli.

"Have fun," said Aragorn.

Gimli, unheeding, ran to get his axe.

"So you see," said Gandalf. "She's expecting to be rescued. You'll have to follow my plan now."

"You didn't have a plan," said Aragorn. "I still say it's impossible."

"There'll be no living with Gimli if you don't rescue her," said Gandalf. "And if we stay shut up together here for much longer, we'll all go insane."

* * *

Gimli sat by the fire that night, sulking to himself, while the rest of the inmates of the cave heartlessly ate dinner as hungrily as if Lady Galadriel wasn't a prisoner of Sauron. Gimli was not hungry: he had spent the afternoon imagining all the gruesome tortures Galadriel might be undergoing and, his imagination being aided by memories of orc horror movies he had seen (Gimli was fond of orc horror movies), he had completely lost his appetite.

Why wouldn't anyone do anything? That jerk Aragorn! And even Legolas - his best friend, Legolas - wanted to go to Mirkwood instead of saving her! Who would want to go to Mirkwood anyway?!

Gimli looked up and noticed that Legolas was not eating dinner either. He sat on the opposite side of the campfire, gazing abstractedly into the flames and gnawing his nails.

"Why won't you go save Lady Galadriel?" asked Gimli. As Gimli had asked that same question almost without pause the whole afternoon, Legolas was the only member of the fellowship left who didn't whop him when he asked it.

"Aragorn says it's impossible," said Legolas.

"Remember the time you killed an oliphaunt single-handed?" said Gimli. "And that time we killed like a million orcs at Rauros? And like twenty million in Moria, plus a cave troll? It's not impossible."

"Well," said Legolas, "_I _can't go, anyway. My dad told me to come home."

"Legolas," said Gimli. "Be serious. You don't want to go back to Mirkwood. The whole reason you came on that ill-fated quest to destroy the ring was to get away from Mirkwood, and your dad."

"Yes, but..." said Legolas. He apparently couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Why aren't you eating?" asked Aragorn, coming up just then.

"I'm not hungry," said Gimli.

"Me either," said Legolas.

Aragorn sat down with a half empty plate. "Did you run out of pain meds?" he asked Legolas in a low voice.

Legolas covered his face with his hands. "Yes," he said. "And anti-depressants, too."

Gimli's mouth dropped open. "I didn't know you were on meds," he said.

"Is that why you're so skinny?" asked Sam.

"Is that why you're so anxious to go back to Mirkwood?" asked Aragorn astutely.

"All right for you to talk," said Legolas. "You take pain killers, too."

"Athelas," said Aragorn. "That's over the counter stuff, dude. That's completely different."

"I can't help it," said Legolas, despondently. "That orc in Esgaroth really messed me up. I've had to take stuff for the pain ever since. And as for the anti-depressants, well, you just don't know what it was like growing up with dad. And I lost my girlfriend, too."

"Yeah, well I've probably been through at least as much trauma as you," said Aragorn.

"Have not," said Legolas.

"Have too."

"Giant spiders, man?"

"Well, what about the time I got bitten by a mad warg?"

"So it's pills that make you so zoned out all the time," said Lindir. "I thought it was because you were autistic."

"I'm not autistic," said Legolas.

"Cheater!" roared Gimli.

Legolas looked shocked.

"That's why you won the drinking contest!" Gimli shouted. "No wonder it didn't affect you. Do you have any idea what kind of headache I had the next day?"

"Well, it was your silly idea in the first place," said Legolas.

"Some friend!" said Gimli.

"Get over it," said Merry, chucking a turnip at him.

There was a long silence in the cave after that. Finally Sam said, "Do you think if _I_ took pain killers -"

"No," said Legolas quickly.

"I have it!" said Gimli, very suddenly and very loudly.

"Have what?" said Elladan.

"I've heard of people breaking addictions through hypnotism," said Gimli. "Legolas should try it."

"Who's going to hypnotise him?" asked Gandalf.

"Lady Galadriel. She does hypnosis, doesn't she?"

"I think it's telepathy."

"Close enough," said Gimli. "Legolas will be cured. We'll all be heroes. All we have to do is save her."

"Simple enough," said Aragorn drily.

"But if I get off the meds," Legolas protested, "I'll have the pain and depression."

"Maybe she can cure that, too," said Gimli.

"See what I told you?" said Gandalf to Aragorn. "He won't stop until you give in."

Aragorn stood up. "All right," he said. "After this, we'll all probably be on morphine, but apparently there's no alternative." He belted on Narsil and threw on a ragged cloak.

"Yippee!" said Gimli, grabbing his axe.

"If we're going to storm Mordor, we'll need an army," said Aragorn. "I'm going to the paths of the dead."

"But the dead already helped you and went to the Halls of Mandos," said Pippin. "They aren't in limbo anymore."

"I know," said Aragorn, "but maybe they weren't all there when we went through last time. Maybe some of them were off golfing or something."

"Bowling," said Gimli. "With skulls."

"No, it's called bocce," said Legolas.

"Anyway," said Aragorn, "there may be a few of them left. Every little bit helps, you know. I'm putting you in charge, Gandalf. Meet me at the crossroads in Ithilien in about a week's time."

"Where are you going?" asked Frodo, eight conversations behind as usual. Nobody paid any attention to him.

"We're going to be heroes!" said Gimli, leaping about and brandishing his axe. He was apparently addressing Legolas, but each individual thought he was personally addressing him.

"Orc slashing!" said Elrohir, dumping all of Elladan's belongings on the floor while searching for his sword.

"Maybe we'll find some mushrooms," said Sam hopefully, packing up his cooking pots.

"Pipeweed!" said Pippin, Merry, and Gandalf.

"Send us your address so we can forward your letters," said a cave troll.

"And anything you might leave behind by accident," added the other cave troll.

The company frolicked out the door of the cave and into the open air, singing one of Lindir's old hits. The cave trolls waved to them until they disappeared.

"It's so quiet," remarked one troll.

"I guess it's okay to take the dirt out of the bathtub now," said the other.


	8. In the Camps

******Notes:** Onesizefitsall **and** Zane's Girlfriend**, I don't know what kind of pain Legolas is in. Technically, Aragorn was more injured in the movie, but Legolas got a few facial wounds. This is more of a spoof off of fanfics that like to put Aragorn and Legolas in lots of pain.**

Lily Lindsey-Aubery**, they don't want to save Galadriel, couldn't you tell? :P (But Sauron might be wanting them to by now.)**

**Random FYI: Oops,**** I guess the trolls were OCs. I'll have to work them in again later and give them canon status.**

* * *

**Content Advisory: Warning. This chapter rated T for mild action violence and some menace. (Not really, but I like content advisories.)**

* * *

**Chapter 8: In the Camps**

Glorfindel awoke in a general atmosphere that verged on complete darkness. The only ray of light was a jaundiced beam that probed half-heartedly through a tiny grilled window about twenty feet up in one of the four stone walls. Its light did not catch a single dust mote or passing insect; only a vapour of lifeless particles that seemed to hang permanently in motionless limbo.

He moved and groaned; then, finding he was not fettered, he slid tentatively forward to see how far the limits of his cell extended. His foot touched a pool of questionable liquid that had puddled up around the drain in the middle of the floor and he drew back quickly, scraping his shoe on the flagstones in an unsuccessful effort to sanitise it.

Moving more cautiously, he stretched his arms out on either side, feeling for the walls. His fingers came in contact with them at about arm's length on either side, making him feel a sudden surge of claustrophobia. He tilted his head back and tried to locate the ceiling, but the blank black space above him was as impenetrable as a portal into infinity. Were it not for the window, he would have felt as if he were in well, and at least a hundred feet underground.

All this effort was to some purpose of course; namely the dark and devious enterprise of escape. So far there seemed at least three possible exits: the window, the door (he supposed there was one somewhere), and the drain. Glorfindel stood up and, closing his eyes and turning his face towards the light, breathed deeply to combat the sick feeling every elf experiences when trapped in a small space.

"_You'll be all right,_" he told himself. "_I'll get you out of here somehow. Now think. Think. Think. Think. What's the best way to proceed?_"*

He could not concentrate, however, because of the nagging thought that kept popping into his head: "_Was Arwen really as bad as _this_?_"

There was a jingling and then a loud clanging somewhere in the wall to his right and he heard a metal door slam against the wall. Someone stood in the open doorway shaking a large ring of keys.

"Come on, you slug," said an orcish voice. "Move out of there."

"But I've scarcely been here long at all," said Glorfindel, who had hoped to at least make a more thorough survey of the cell before being moved to a possibly more impregnable one.

"No cheek. Get out here, or you'll wish you had."

Glorfindel followed his jailer down the stone passage and out into the semi-obscurity of a Mordor noon. The sky had a permanent yellow cast and the air felt heavy and sticky. Glorfindel hoped nervously that the dirty suspension would not adhere to his hair. They walked about a mile and a half down a dusty, rock-strewn road until they reached a high chain link fence, topped by razor wire and bedizened with high-voltage warnings.

"What, anover one?"

Glorfindel glanced austerely at the gatekeeper who was surveying him in a bored manner.

"All right, get inside, Goldilocks," said the orc, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

He stepped obediently through the spiked iron gate and into a scene of utter horribleness. As far as the eye could see stretched rows of huts, obviously thrown together hastily and without even the most primitive of amenities (running water, heating, and glass in the windows to name a few). A long line of elves, men, and dwarves, with an occasional hobbit, all chained together, filed out through a gate in one wall.

A small snaga orc stood nearby, watching him curiously.

"You're new, ain't you?" he asked.

"Where are they taking them?" asked Glorfindel.

"To the mines, to mine ore for his overlordship. That's the second shift leaving."

"Poor wretches."

The orc scratched his ear and cocked his head on one side. "They're not so bad off," he said. "The mines ain't so bad as the smelting furnaces. Now those are beastly. You don't want to get sent there, mate."

"How do you keep from being sent there?" asked Glorfindel.

"Well, what did you get sent here for?"

"Escaping."

"You ought to have stayed put. If you misbehave in the labour camps, you get sent here to the correction camps, and if you misbehave here, you get sent on to the deaf camps. _No one _misbehaves there."

Glorfindel followed the small orc's gaze out towards the great, black mountain in the centre of the Mordorian plain from which the greater part of the thick atmosphere seemed to originate.

"Is _that _where the furnaces are?" he asked in horror.

"Naow. _That's _where they send the bodies."

Glorfindel tried to speak but found that the atmosphere had affected his throat adversely.

"Come on, I'll show you to your billets," said the orc.

He showed Glorfindel to one of the huts, which proved to be filled with bunk beds without blankets or mattresses, and no other furniture at all. After Glorfindel had deposited his very meagre bundle on one of the beds they went to the kitchens where lunch was being served. An enormous uruk was dishing food out of one of the huge soup pots.

"What is it?" asked Glorfindel suspiciously, looking at the thick, dark matter in his bowl. One never knew with Mordor food exactly what one was getting.

"If you don't like it you can go wivout, shrimp," said the uruk.

"I'm Glorfindel of Rivendell," said Glorfindel with dignity. He was not used to being called names. Everyone had always taken him seriously.

"Rivendell?" said the uruk. He seemed to be trying to remember the name. "Rivendell? Oh, I know. It's that shoddy joint up in the Misty Mountains, isn't it?"

"It's not shoddy."

"Oh, I fought it was the one what was run by the half-breed quack they call Elrond."

"Don't call Lord Elrond names. He's one of the foremost physicians of Middle Earth."

"Has he ever cured you?" asked the uruk, hitting Glorfindel over the head with the spoon.

"Touch me again and I'll stick that spoon down your throat, scarface," said Glorfindel.

"What? You called me _scarface_?" roared the orc, flinging his weapon on the ground with such force that it made a small crater. "Take off your shirt, elf scum!"

Glorfindel was genuinely shocked. "Take off my shirt?" he said. "How vulgar!"

The orc had already taken off his own breastplate, revealing a chest that resembled a muscle suit. Glorfindel took a step back. The orc was about twice his own size and had extremely well-defined abdominal muscles, while the only thing well-defined about Glorfindel's chest was his rib cage.

"You called me _scarface_!" repeated the uruk unnecessarily. He swung his fist at Glorfindel, who ducked.

"Enough!" shouted Glorfindel, growing angry. "I am a vanya, you dull creature. You are all of you beneath me, and I will not be bullied -"

He was interrupted by another swing from the uruk, which he dodged with less success.

"Ugluk's at it again!" shouted a snaga and a crowd of orcs immediately collected around the combatants, all shouting insults and encouragements. Several of the more enterprising began taking bets, with as much as ten to one against Glorfindel.

Ugluk made another swipe, but howled as Glorfindel blocked the blow.

"Nine block," said Glorfindel smugly. "I've studied Taekwondo."

"Well _I _know knockdown Karate," said Ugluk, bringing his right foot into contact with Glorfindel's shoulder with lethal force.

Glorfindel staggered back, but as Ugluk lunged at him he caught the uruk by the wrist and flipped him in a stunning 360 degree spin, bringing him down on his back.

"Judo," he said.

"Ju-jitsu," said Ugluk, grabbing Glorfindel's leg and twisting it from under him.

Glorfindel landed on his face and Ugluk leaped to his feet.

"That was fairly impressive," said Glorfindel, as Ugluk rushed at him. "But I'll bet you don't know Savate."

He threw one leg up and caught Ugluk square in the ribs, flinging him backwards. Ugluk executed a graceful cartwheel and landed on his feet, grinning.

"_You_ probably don't know Capoeira," he said.

The two opponents faced each other, breathing hard and perspiring.

"We'll never be done wiv vis," said Ugluk, mopping his forehead. "We're too evenly matched. I'll have to finish it the proper way."

He snatched a sword from a nearby orc and swung at Glorfindel. Glorfindel ducked and, sweeping up the stew pot, flung it at Ugluk's head with elven accuracy.

Ugluk fell to the ground unconscious and all the orcs who had bet on Glorfindel cheered.

"Ha," said Glorfindel. "I ought to have told you I've slain a balrog."

Just then a nazgul appeared. "What's this?" he demanded in a rasping voice. "Fighting amongst prisoners?"

"He started it," said Glorfindel.

"Yeh," said another orc, who foresaw money to be made off of Glorfindel as the camp's new prizefight champion. " 'E was only complainin' about the food."

The nazgul glowered. "You're the one who was sent here this morning, weren't you? Troublemaker! The master wants to see you."

"What will he do to me?" asked Glorfindel, as he was marched towards the gate.

"Send you to the death camps, probably," the nazgul replied.

* * *

_* Yes, Glorfindel is schizophrenic. It comes of having multiple lifetimes, I suppose. Anyway, he got used to talking to himself in the Halls of Mandos where he didn't have anyone else to talk to._


	9. His Evil Overlordship

**Notes: **Lily Lindsey-Aubery: **Yes, Avengers pops in wherever it gets a chance, doesn't it? Best script _ever_!** Zane's Girlfriend: **The death camps are horrible. There actually were labour camps in Mordor in the book, but it didn't talk about them much, unfortunately. **2MFriedmanFreak:** I have no idea how to pronounce Capoeira...It's a Brazilian martial art. Don't dislike Ugluk! He's going to be in it more and he's going to be a good guy...I think. It's hard to plan this story in advance...**

**And now for the Darth Vader theme song: Duh duh duh duhduhduhhhhh...**

* * *

**Chapter 9: His Evil Overlordship**

Beregond fidgeted in his seat. He was not at all happy to be sitting in the waiting room at Barad-dur in the first place (who would be?) and the prolonged and unexplained wait was making him even more nervous than he had been to begin with. He had of course not come of his own volition. He had received a summons the day before and although he had no idea why the Great Eye (it was no longer a great eye, but everyone still called it that; old habits died hard) desired to meet with an insignificant Captain of Gondor, he had not thought it wise to dispute the point.

He had been waiting nearly an hour. The former Lord Celeborn, wearing thick-rimmed glasses and sporting what Sauron considered a flashy bowtie (black with neon skulls), looked up apologetically from his station behind the reception desk.

"I can't understand what's keeping his lordship so long," he said. "The committee was only going to discuss the proposed plan for compensation for balrogs. I shouldn't think that would take long, considering Gandalf killed off the only one left a few months ago."

He shook his head and turned back to the paperwork he was trying to make sense of. The outer door burst open with a resounding crash that startled Beregond into emitting a stifled shriek, and Eomer, previously the King of Rohan for about ten days, entered with his blond hair streaming behind him.

"Where's Sauron?" he demanded. "I want to see Sauron."

"Well, let me see," said Celeborn, opening his day planner, "he has an opening on Monday afternoon at three thirty."

"No, I want to see him now," said Eomer, striding over to the elevator.

"But your former majesty," protested Celeborn, leaping to his feet and hurrying after him, "his lordship is in committee just now. You absolutely cannot intrude."

With some difficulty he managed to get Eomer away from the elevator and into one of the uncomfortable waiting room chairs.

"When will he be out?" asked Eomer, flopping into the chair and picking up a magazine with a picture of an orc on the cover and beneath it printed "The Man of the Future."

"I hope quite soon," said Celeborn.

"He'd better be."

Eomer flipped through the magazine for several minutes, then tossed it aside and looked around futilely for a television set. Sauron's waiting room was of a boring and comfortless cast, without so much as a coffee maker in sight.

"That's a cool pencil," Eomer remarked when his boredom grew too intense.

Celeborn looked down at the pencil he was writing with. It was hot pink and read "Life Is Better Blonde" in sparkly letters.

"Oh," said Celeborn. "This belongs to my wife. I don't know how it can have gotten on my desk." He paused and then added unnecessarily, "Of course it isn't mine, because I'm not blond."

"You aren't?" said Eomer.

"You coloured your hair?" said Beregond.

"It's not blond. It's silver."

Both men took a moment to critically examine Celeborn's hair.

"It looks blond to me," said Eomer.

The door of the elevator banged open just then and Sauron stepped out, followed by his two chief minions and Lady Galadriel, who was taking notes.

"...save for the stipulation that all responsible parties..." Sauron was saying.

"You villain!" shrieked Eomer, leaping from his chair and cutting into the monologue.

"Me?" said Sauron, nonplussed.

"No, him." Eomer pointed an accusing finger at the Witch King. "I _thought_ you were hiding him here! Do not attempt to shield him from my wrath."

"What did I do?" asked the Witch King.

"Where's my sister?" demanded Eomer.

"Your sister? That feisty tomboy? I don't know and I don't want to."

"That's a lie! She's been missing for weeks and you were the last person to be seen with her."

"And at that time she stuck her sword between my eye sockets. Let me tell you, that ended our relationship."

"You've got her here, haven't you? I'm not leaving until I've found her."

"She's not here," said the Witch King, giving an involuntary shiver at the possibility.

"I'll find out for myself!" said Eomer, leaping past them into the elevator. The door closed behind him and the light beside it began to climb towards the top level indicator.

"Do not follow him," said Sauron, as if someone had offered to. "He won't find anything. Aha! You."

Beregond shifted uncomfortably as he saw Sauron's visor turned towards him.

"I had forgotten I had sent for you," said Sauron. "I have a job offer."

Beregond drew a breath of relief before it occurred to him that working for Sauron might not be the pleasantest experience.

"You're probably aware of what happened to the last steward of Gondor," Sauron began. "His end was unfortunate. I was planning to use him after the war was over. And now that his son has disappeared with a band of misled satellites and the rightful king of Gondor is a wanted criminal, I have no one left to put in charge. That's why I sent for you."

"Me?"

"Yes, you'll be the new steward of Gondor. Don't worry, it won't be very hard. You will need to make sure the country runs smoothly and make all the boring everyday decisions, but anything really important you will refer to me. You can take as many holidays as you like - sit on the king's throne - whatever you feel like doing."

"Thank you," said Beregond, unsure of what else to say.

"I will, of course, be keeping my eye on you," said Sauron. "Here." He handed Beregond a palantir. "That's for you."

Beregond had run out of things to say. As he was fumbling over an acceptable thank you the outer door burst open again and two orcs entered, leading an unwilling Glorfindel who was garlanded with several very large chains.

"What's this?" said Sauron.

"The elf who was causing trouble in camp 189."

"Where's the nazgul I sent?"

"I don't know," said one of the orcs. "He handed him over to us and said he had other business to attend to."

"I didn't send him any orders," protested the Witch King. "Where is that useless creep? Come to mention it, where are all eight of them? Goofing off, are they?"

He set off to find them. Sauron turned to Glorfindel.

"I wanted to talk to you because someone said you'd come back from the dead. That means you went to Valinor, right?"

"Well," said Glorfindel, "the Halls of Mandos... It's sort of different..."

"Close enough. I want to know what the Valar are up to over there. They aren't hatching any plots to depose me, are they?"

"I don't know." said Glorfindel. "You see, I haven't been there since the first age."

"Well, she wasn't up there," said Eomer, stepping out of the elevator. "You'd better tell me where she is."

"I don't know where she is," said Sauron. "But if I see her I'll let you know." He turned back to Glorfindel. "If you truly don't know anything, then you're of no further use to me. Take him to the death camps."

"But...I..." began Glorfindel.

"That's uncivilised!" said Celeborn.

"How dare you sentence an innocent elf to such a dreadful place!" exclaimed Lady Galadriel. "I will not permit it."

"Shut up!" said Sauron. "I'll do what I like in my own tower. Take him away, I say!"

The orcs moved to obey, but the door was blocked by two odd figures.

The first one wore holey bell-bottomed jeans and a tie-dyed t-shirt, while the second sported a headband and orange- and brown-striped corduroy trousers. They both had long, yellow hair by which they might be distinguished as elves, although the amount of dirt adhering to them rendered this diagnosis questionable.

Everyone was at first too surprised to say anything.

"Whoooaaaaa," said one of the elves.

"Rumil, Orophin, is that you?" said Lady Galadriel.

"Yeah, man," said Rumil, the elder of the two brothers. "We were looking for you."

"Then - " said Lady Galadriel hopefully, "you've come to rescue me?"

Sauron assumed a fierce expression.

"No," said Orophin. "We just wanted to tell you... We like totally saved two of your trees."

"What are you dressed like that for?" said Celeborn indignantly. "That sort of attire was never permitted in Lothlorien."

"Oh, now Celby, I think it's cute," said Galadriel. "And you saved some of my Mellyrn? How sweet of you."

"Yeah, like a ton of orcs came and started chopping them all down, so we like totally saved them..."

"You're the crackpots who chained yourselves to trees?" said Sauron. "I told my minions to bring you in over a week ago." The Witch King being nowhere in sight, he glared menacingly at the innocent Mouth.

"Do you mean to say," said Glorfindel, who had still not been led away, "that instead of coming up to Rivendell to help us repulse the invaders, you sat about saving silly _trees_?"

"Is that what you were doing while they were dragging us away to this hole?" said Celeborn drily.

"Oh, it's wonderful," said Galadriel. "At least there are still two left. I must go see them. You'll give me the day off of course, won't you, Sauron dear?"

"Not until he's told me where my sister is!" said Eomer. "Do you think I'm going back to Rohan without her? No more stalling."

"My dear, the trip would be far too dangerous," said Celeborn. "Your lordship, don't let her go."

Glorfindel was still shouting at Rumil and Orophin. "Weren't you aware that the whole rest of Middle Earth was fighting a WAR? How could you just sit there chained to trees?"

"We were protesting the war!" said Orophin. "The whole reason we're in this mess and all the trees got cut down was because of the war. We came up here to tell him to stop the senseless killing."

"I'll of course insist on paid leave," said Galadriel, "because it's for community service."

"Peace out, man!" said Rumil.

"Help!" cried Sauron, clutching his helmet. "I'm surrounded by too many blondes! Someone get them out of here!"

"I'll go," said Beregond, making for the door.

"No!" said Sauron. "No one leaves without my permission."

"But you just said..."

"You're all going to the death camps!"

"Except for me," said Celeborn. "Because I'm not blond."

"You can't get along without your secretary," said Galadriel firmly. "I don't know if you're aware of it, but your spelling is atrocious."

"Whatever," said Sauron. "Guritz, call up a dozen more orcs and escort these four nutcases to the nearest death camp. - And make sure they die soon," he added.

The summoned orcs arrived and took away Glorfindel, Eomer, Rumil, and Orophin, who were apparently the most unnecessary of Sauron's blond retinue.

"Ah, peace," murmured Sauron when they had gone. He noticed Beregond edging towards the door.

"You go back to Minas Tirith and do your job," said Sauron. "And don't forget your palantir."

"Yes, your lordship."

Clutching his palantir, Beregond fled the dark tower.

* * *

******Mwahaha **I love making Sauron suffer! Sorry Galadriel is so ooc.

**Stay tuned for more of Beregond and his precious palantir...**

**Sauron thinks bow ties are cool.**


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